


Pull Me Closer

by hrewannabe



Series: A Feeling I've Never Felt Before [4]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Brujahs being brujahs, Enemies to Friends, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, challenge, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrewannabe/pseuds/hrewannabe
Summary: It's 2017 and it's been years since she's seen her or really heard any word. Hardly thinks about the girl now, only thinks about her when blonde women with short hair offer her a cigarette, none have ever been as bold as her though.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Benny’s Bar and Pub isn’t packed tonight, but it's not empty. There’s enough kindred to fill the room with the familiar haze of smoke, enough ghouls for the scent of booze to hang heavy in the air. Nike is lining up her shot on the pool table, corny green fabric underneath her fingertips as she shoots and looks up at her opponent who smirk and take their turn the human next to them clings onto their shoulder. She wants to laugh at the image, but settles for taking a glance around the bar, gaze lingering on Stan to make sure he’s okay before swingings towards the door. Tonight she’s keeping an eye out for Lavender and she wants to do her sire proud. She’s the sentry tonight, crowds around the pool table, watches the door, if they were the Tower she’d be the Keeper of Elysium but they’re not.

When her eyes reach the door they’re stopped by what has to be a hallucination caused by the latest batch they’ve tested on the humans, because right there walking through the doors is Becca Anderson. **_THE_** Becca Anderson. Not any old pretty looking figure with short blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, not that she can tell from the distance or the smoke, but that’s her. The timid stance is gone, now its strong with the faint tinge of nerves of what she assumes is somewhere new. Her shoulders are pushed back, a ripped tank top leaves her muscled arms exposed, she’s swaggering in. _Confident._ Nike wants to drop her pool stick, but grips it tight. She has to be calm. She has a job to do. She’s making Lavender proud. She’s got to do this right for Kore, she has no time to go and flirt with Becca. No time to - wait...What’s she doing here anyways?

Nike stares hard, goes to line up again for another move in the game. Watches Becca take in the bar and swing her gaze towards the pool table. The girl pauses and then is smiling, Nike would even be so bold as to call it debonaire and she’s headed her way. Watches the tall blonde swagger over to the tables, feels like her heart is going to start beating again, she’s so shocked. What is the blonde doing here of all places, in some smoky bar in the middle of nowhere Virginia, shouldn’t she be somewhere in New York City? LA? Paris or some weird Greek city with fancy food and her fancy surrogate sire?

Nike watches her get closer. Is glad none of her siblings are here and that Lavender is down stairs. Doesn’t want to think about what Eros would say about her face, or Kore about her ‘love sick expressions.’ She’s changed though. Of course she has she chids herself even vampires change with the times, but its her. She wants to make eye contact. Wants to see those bright eyes catch hers, tries to make contact but those blue blue eyes are far to focused and pay her no heed. So just as the blond is going to step past her Nike steps in front of her blocking her path to the last pool table where a new game is getting ready to start, her own companions forgotten.

The girl stops and it’s definitely Becca Anderson. Her tall form doesn’t linger over hers but it feels like it when their smirk grows and blue eyes meet green.

“I know you.” The blonde states and tosses her hair.

The sound of her voice after so long, makes her knees weak. Makes Nike want to curl up in the sound and stay there until the end of time. Has to pull herself back together to answer her. Wonders for a moment if she can after hearing the lilt of the mellow voice of the face she’s dreamt of occasionally since they’d left New York. watches the blonde locks fall back into place from her head moving, they look soft and it takes a second for the words to register.  “Don’t you remember?” and Nike feels like her heart is falling ten stories, falling off of the balcony from that hot night in 2005, like the girl had instead of sharing her cigarette had just shoved her off the building. “You’re Becca Anderson right. New York?”

If she doesn’t remember Nike tells herself its not a big deal, but her heart feels like it's sinking down so low, there’s none of the playful excitement she thought there would be and she feels something in her starting to want to rise up, she knows what it is and she wrangles the beast back down.

“Nike Sullivan, right” and the girl shifts her weight. “This where you came when you left me in New York?-“ Becca coughs, - “left New York. Sorry, smoke.”

She remembers! Nike’s heart is wrenched back up full force, the still thing in her chest feels alive for once after being so dead, she can almost imagine that its pumping blood. Her toes curl a little inside of her boots at the pleasure of _Becca Anderson_ remembering her name. Nike waves a hand. Play it calm, Eros would play it calm. “Here” she laughs throwing her head back, laughter is good, right? Can feel her fangs drop in excitement and she feels like a week old vampire. “No we went up North and then bounced around a bit, I’ve only been here a couple of weeks now.” she wants to lean forward so bad, to drop the pool stick clutched in her hands and lean in close and smell the sweet smell of Becca, wants to know if she’d let her--- has to stop herself from thinking so hard, has to remind herself she doesn’t even know what the muscular brujah smells like. “Say, where’s that toreador sire of yours” and Nike is so weak, has always been the weakest and leans forward, invading Becca’s space.

“Naw. I ditched her years back. Came to Staunton, then heard about this little pop-up. Thought I’d check you out. It. Check it out.”

Somehow Becca is jostled forward, bumping into her and Nike feels the awkward pleasing press of her again her forearms and wants more, so much more and she knows theses kinds of thoughts are bad, knows what happens if she lets all of this out like a dam breaking. Has to pull away a bit to regain her composure. Is glad she’s not alive because the next words would have made her heart stop if it did still beat. She wants to, wants join, _fuck_! **Fuck!** That makes things so easy, so hard, but if she can bask in this warmth, the want of her without breaking than she’ll take that. Better to have the chance, to see her, than to not have her there at all. The past few years have taught her that at least. “Well, if you’ve ditched your wannabe sire and want to join up with a real cause you’ve come to the right place” rolls the pool stick in her hands, feels calmer. “I could show you around later after you speak with the baron if you want” and she grins wide, lets her fangs drop on purpose instead of with school girl excitement and looks behind her to wave off the ghoul coming up behind her.

The blonde licked her lips as she nodded, Nike’s full attention on that small action. “I’d like that. Oh, and about your Baron--”

Nike’s eyes shift away to look over Becca’s shoulder to gaze at a new figure entering the bar. Shorter than even Nike, a baseball hat pulled low, soft curls spilling out, _beautiful_. Not as dangerous as Becca looks,not as gorgeous, but and Nike’s mind flash to Becca’s mouth asking her if she knows her and that’s all it takes. _What if-_ **no**. Nike is intrigued, wants to make sure they aren’t a danger and yet, her gaze slides back to Becca. She wants so so badly to not leave this. This comfortable familiar game of cat and mouse, that Nike could finally reap some benefit from, could have her close, so so sooo close after so long.

Becca follows Nike’s gaze to the newcomer.“Could you hold that thought? I’ll be back.” Becca turns and strolls over to the girl. They’re talking, the blonde leaning into the other girls space.

Nike watches it all with a thin disappointed frown at the pool table. The idea of some other kindred taking the tall blonde’s attention is...a new emotion she hasn’t felt in years.  She follows after Becca and in a split second, ‘ _poor choices’_ she can hear Selene’s voice echoing, decides to drape herself over the blonde. Leans her chin against the taller girls shoulder . “Hel-lo beautiful” she croons out, letting an arm run down one of Becca’s, her pool stick laying forgotten against the side of the pool table.

The blonde’s head is turning whip fast to look her in the eyes. Studying her face, and then shrugging her off her shoulder and turning back to the newer girl. “Sorry. Ignore her, she’s a little…” Becca twirled her finger next to Nike’s temple. She turns to face the brunette, wearing the most devious, mischievous smirk she’d ever mustered. Her eyes challenged Nike’s.

Nike has to refrain from taking an involuntary step back at the words spewing from Becca’s mouth, doesn't want to watch the way her sweet lips form the words. Almost doesn’t notice the challenge in her eyes, and when she does she is...angry?

“Why don’t you leave us sweetheart, and I’ll get back to you?” She taunted,  high pitch dripping with sarcasm.

She’s unsure of what to feel, because only the oldest of her blood siblings call her sweetheart, the strongest of the group bearing down on her with their fangs dropped. She feels something running, feels the beast raise its head again, remembers that it is so close to her surface, so much closer than usual. She pastes on a smile, if its a challenge then so be it. If Becca wishes for their game to change, than who is she to judge.

“Oh darling, I couldn’t possibly leave someone new with you, why have you really been away from your sire for that long. I mean from what I heard it's barely been more than 3 years tops” Pulls further back from the blonde and circles over towards the shorter figure, lets her gaze wander on the other girl’s form, hopes that Becca will notice. Wants all her glorious attention for herself, wants to drink it up like blood or some decidadent form of nectar. She’s angry and jealous and she wants victory so much. She will rise like the dove, like the goddess that Lavender named her, she’ll prove that much.

Becca steps behind her, resting hands on slender shoulders. “Come now, I’ve got to make our guest as comfortable as you made me.” She slowly drapes her hands down the smaller girls ribs and whispers so _so, close_ to her ear, “can’t handle the competition, darling?” Nike shivers involuntarily, catches herself a second to late, and feels it hit, knows that the taller brujah must have felt it, draped over her in such a way.  Becca’s hands retreat to her pocket, pull out a cigarette and her lighter, props in gently between Nike’s lips and lights it.

Nike is pleased by the lit cigarette, knows it for what it’s for, doesn’t want the blonde to leave, to remove the contact that Nike is soaking up in. Nike takes a drag, wishes Becca was still there behind her, for her to turn and blow the smoke in her face so she could watch Becca’s big eyes blink away the haze. Instead the Camarilla blonde has maneuvered herself off her back and around to offer her hand to the shorter girl.

“Becca, dear heart, how can you make another guest comfortable when your still a guest yourself. Please, let me take care of you both” and she wonders what the response will be, wishes she had Becca right in front of her, wonders if she would see the taller girl’s pupils dilate at the words, wonder if she would catch the meaning. She can handle competition, she has eight blood siblings all of whom are perfect. She is the youngest.

The blonde drops her hand and circles around her, leans in close. So, so close, that Nike for a split second thinks that maybe the blonde might press in for kiss. Instead venom hisses its way out. “You lost your chance to _take care_ of me when you dropped off the planet.” She turns and grabs the shorter girl’s hand, and storms toward the bar.

Nike recoils, tries so hard not to, wants to stand as tall and as strong as Athena, as Artemis. Doesn’t want to flinch, didn’t realize she had pushed to far. Hadn’t meant to go, didn’t want, had only wanted to please Lavender and hadn’t the taller brujah done the same, she had always moved as her sire had beckoned. Nike wants to call Kore, wants someone to comfort the hurt curling up in her chest as she watches Becca walk away. Wants to go and curl up, lick her wounds and snap back. Not worth it some rational part of her brain tells her. Nike’s eyes soften, and she blinks rapidly, it’s noticeable if vampires cry, she reminds herself.

She walks back to the pool table, dejected. Watches from the front wall as Becca leans in close with the shorter woman. Wants to- no the game is over, what ever was there is gone, she lost, and not only did she lose, the game ended.

_Over._

Remembers Kore telling her that Waynesboro would be nice, a good way to forget the little lion from New York. Guess she didn’t realize how wrong Waynesboro being removed from things was. She starts a new game of pool and waves over a ghoul.

Whatever.

 


	2. Count another headlight on the highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to admit defeat

Despite trying not to watch Becca, she spends the rest of the night arched over the pool table eyes tracking the stocky woman. She goes back to playing pool sure, but that’s just a ruse. Her eyes stay on Becca. She’s doing her job, watches the door in brief glimpses but Becca Anderson, the Brujah adopted by a Toreador, is on her mind. Is back full force, like she hadn’t spent every ounce of energy trying to forget her, or the way she looked, or the sound of her voice, or the way she had plucked that  _ fucking _ cigarette from between her lips that first night to take a drag.  _ Sweet Caine.  _ All her hard work is gone and the pining is back, and instead of getting to tease the blonde or have fun she’s stuck watching her from a pool table playing with an ever changing round of losers and ghouls. 

 

She still can’t help but watch her though. 

 

Watches the way the blonde leans in close to the short brunette, the way their faces are close and angled so she can’t see them talk. She’s jealous. So, so very jealous. Has to stop and remind herself again that Becca is done with her, that the blonde does not want her or her attention and she has to respect that in some small manner. She doesn’t want to. Caine in Torpor does Nike want to go and wedge her way in between the two, wants to throw herself at the blonde in a manner she hasn’t done since she was human and still thought she was going to marry a man and live the 50s housewife dream. Reckons she wants Becca’s attention the way that moths want the light, will circle too close even when they’ve watched others be devoted and devoured by it. Not she she’s ever even seen the girl do something even remotely dangerous looking. _I don’t want to be alone_. Nike shakes off that thought and lines up for another shot, eyes focused on the cue and green felt. _I’m not alone, I have my blood, my lineage._

 

Her concentration from earlier is gone, instead she’s painted the look of it on. She knows what it looks like enough to fake it, it’s like confidence. Easy to emulate. Earlier it had been real though, she had been poised and ready for anything. Not anymore though, she’s shaken. Thrown off balance even. Nike is hyper aware still, but it’s the bad kind. The kind were you can feel the press of your socks on your feet, the fabric of her pants hugging her legs, the way the lacy material of her shirt clings to her cold skin, soft. Can feel the wood under her fingers, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks with each slow to fast blink. She’s focused on trying not to feel so much. When she looks up next the blonde is leaving the shorter girl and headed towards the bar. She swaggers over to Stan. Broad shoulders stiff, blonde hair slowly moving with each step. Nike does another sweep of the room. Tries not to feel. 

 

When Becca slides into a seat at the bar and Stan eventually makes his way over she’s watching. He leans onto the counter, full body weight. She watches his face as he’s talking to her. She can’t read lips, but she’s watching for facial cues. Wouldn’t have mattered anyways though because his well groomed beard makes it hard to see his lips, she wonders for a brief moment if that’s why he has it. He looks excited to see Becca, open. The way his eyes are wide and the hand stroking his beard are all movements that say he’s met her before, knows enough about her to be friendly. It makes sense, he was from Staunton prior to Waynesboro opening their own state, it makes sense. He gestures to a table towards the middle after a while and he disappears through the back door behind the bar. Becca stays there, leans her back against the bar, hand running up and down her arm again. Still nervous, some part of the girl from that first night in 2005 still exists. Maybe some part of that could- No! Nike can’t afford to do something silly like fall in love or form attachments to Camarilla girls who might never switch sects. Takes another shot, gazes around the room, eyes searching for viable threats. She notes a white haired girl settling in at the bar between two regulars and a thin figure with a hoodie pulled low slipping into a seat towards the far corner of the room. The white haired girl is tiny, marks her as not a threat from the way her shoulders are bunched. Turns to look back at Becca and spots Lavender. 

 

Her sire is stalking out the back door and into the bar. The noise dims in respect before rising back to its usual noisy levels. Her sire gestures for the stocky blonde to follow them to the middle table and her sire sits down. Lounges in their chair, flicks long pale purple hair over their shoulder and the two are talking. Becca’s shoulders hover somewhere between relaxed and tense and Nike spends time watching them bob up and down. Nike stops looking,  _ has to stop looking _ , goes back to her pool game and watching the door, reaches a hand up to rub at an irritated eye. Glances back after a while, she watches Lavender lean forward on the table, watches them slowly pull back, they smirk and she knows the blonde will probably be coming back. Lavender doesn’t make faces like that over kindred who don’t sign on. 

 

Eventually those that would have continued to play pool have left and Nike has taken to sitting near the pool tables. She continues on unperturbed, sunrise is coming in a couple of hours and everyone is hurrying home. She’d already gone and talked to Stan who had commented on her behavior with the taller girl when she had gone to ask for her notebook that she keeps behind the bar. He had smiled wide, no fangs, eyebrows lifted in question. Not a threat, just a question. She had huffed and stanched her book and pencil and gone to sit. Though she reckons she shouldn’t have gotten so upset, especially considering she usually doesn’t get that close to other kindred, doesn’t usually drap herself over them. She knows he’s just concerned, Stan seems to the perpetual concerned type. When she gets back to the table closest to the pool table she spends her time alternating between watching the door and working on a new formula. Scribbles down notes and possible chemical combinations. Makes a note to contact Starla and Kore for some ingredients in the corner, Lavender wants a new hallucinogenic for the ghouls and the enterprise just outside of Chicago and who is she to tell her sire no. 

 

Looks up in time to see the start of an alternation between the tiny white haired girl and a regular. She about to step in when Becca excuses herself from her conversation with Lavender and heads over. Watches the way the stocky woman places herself between the two, back to the other girl.  _ Trust.  _ Her beast is scrapping its way to the for, is climbing and slithering its way right back up, mad and hurt and tangled emotions raging. They settle down, the regular does and Becca is turning to the short kid. Shoulders high, neck craning down. She’s not nervous anymore, eyebrows drawn low. The kid throws her hands into the air and then the two are trudging towards the door. The smaller girl is dragging her feet, Becca behind her, shoulders squared and chest puffed out. She turns back to her formula, hand easing to rub at her irritated eyes. 

 

Blinks hard and fast, doesn’t look up again until there’s a shaky hand gently shoving a cigarette into her view. Glances up just in time to see Becca, blue eye wide with emotions Nike can’t pin point, they still for a moment and then the girl is turning and marching out the door. Her blonde hair is tossed, arching out around her when she pivots and she has to watch, wishes slow motion in real life existed. After The doors swing close on her heels and Nike is left there alone. Her, the table, her notebook and Becca’s cigarette. Nike has to take a moment to wonder if her eyes had always been blue, after all 2005 was a long time ago and eye colors become insignificant after some time. Wonders if the color is the same as the ocean was that one year she went with  _ him _ . 

 

She glances down at the cigarette. Glances around at the almost empty bar, Stan has taken to wiping down the bar before glancing back at the cigarette. Watches it gently roll, when she pulls her book out from under it. Picks it up with one hand, is rolling it between her fingers when she notices a wiggly scrawl. Had to pause and look at it. Brings it up close to her face, can barely make out Becca’s name and enough numbers to be a phone number. Isn’t she wide she should be excited or scared. 

 

She has Becca Anderson’s phone number. 

Does she dare to play the game?

 

_____________-


End file.
